I was in a bit of a grump when I surfaced into the World this morning. I know why and I know what I need to do to ungrump myself. It was a grump brought on by the petty dramas of others, petty dramas in which I am steadfastly refusing to participate because I am weary with it all. It won’t last long, though, this bit of a grump - just need to do a spot of psychological and spiritual clearing which will most likely take the form of tea, biscuits and watching a couple of re-runs episodes of ‘Ghosts’ later this afternoon. Or ‘The Producers’ (the Nathan Lane/ Matthew Broderick/ Uma Thurman/ Will Ferrell musical one) which ALWAYS lifts my spirits every time. It’s like food for my soul, that musical.
Anyway, my original plan for today had been to crack on with Draft the First of the Much Malarkey Manor Christmas Story 2022. I am currently up to Day 8. It’s a bit ‘loose cannon’ this year as I have gone rogue with the plot. However, because of my current ‘temporary grump mode’ I decided against writing because the testy vibes will merely turn what is already a bit contentious into something outrageously offensive and although this country professes to support freedom of speech, I don’t want to risk being ‘cancelled’ and starting 2023 as Mrs Nobody of Nowhere Street, Effoffville.
Instead, then, I set about doing all those little fiddle fart jobs that build up and up, and keep staring you in the face with murderous intent until you shout, ‘Okay, okay - I’m going to sort you out.’ And as I’m already in grump mode, a little bit extra brought on by tackling fiddle fart jobs won’t show. I call it damage limitation.
Firstly, then, was the re-setting of the only two clocks in the house that either a) don’t re-set themselves by the power of some wi-fi witchery or b) rely on me twiddling their buttons in the good old fashioned manual style of pre-technology. These two are the oven and the land line phone. Why we have to indulge in all this clock changing I don’t know. I mean, the sun doesn’t know anything about it, does it? And if it did, it wouldn’t care.
I started off by being all sensible and reading instruction manuals. Absolute gobbledygook. I’m a writer and an ex-English teacher. I know gobbledygook when I see it. Crikey, I write enough of the stuff myself. So I resorted to the method of ‘Press All The Buttons Until Something Happens’. Took me twenty minutes, but I did it, and felt a certain amount of smugness on completion.
Correct clocks, both. I know I shouldn’t let these things bug me, and just be all Zen and cool, and wait until March when they would be correct again without input from me. But I see them everyday and it’s like they are saying, ‘Ha! Too thick to work out how to put us right, eh?’ Well, my cocky digital friends, it turns out I’m not! Ha, back at ya!!
Next, touching up my Aga. Now, Aga doors are heavy, clangy things so after 5 plus years of usage, the enamel has chipped in a couple of places, mostly on the door latches. My brother had already supplied me with a little pot of the correct paint (Claret) to use and the job was like painting one’s nails with varnish. In fact, I did think at one point ‘It’s a lovely colour this. I wonder if I could do my nails with it. How middle class, to have one’s nails painted the same colour as one’s Aga.’ It was a fleeting thought. Probably not a wise thing to do.
Job Numero Three was cleaning out the filter on the extractor fan. The filter cover comes off easily enough and the filter just needs a bit of a brush, but relocating the filter cover is a whole different ball game of irritation. At one point, I did say to myself, ‘Why? Why did you think this would be a good idea, you blithering idiot? Why couldn’t you just leave well alone?’ I did a couple of swear words, took a deep breath and called on the Goddess of Domesticity (St Brigid) to help, and luckily she did and the filter cover slotted back into its tricksy holes without further fuss.
And then, because by this point my eye had started twitching, I stopped for a cup of tea and to write this highly entertaining blog!
I’m reading this book at the moment, a birthday present from Andy.
Aside from, and despite, the author’s blatant anti-right wing rhetoric it has some entertaining versus hidden amongst the Left-wing spouting. Andy said he almost didn’t buy it, because he felt the Left-wing stance might irk me. He says he knew how much I enjoyed the novel by the same author, so he decided to risk it. But I reckon it’s always good (especially when one is in minor grump mode) to see how the other side are getting things hideously wrong, thereby allowing me to take the moral high ground. The view from up here is marvellous!
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KJ